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a metaphor for religion
Oct. 16th, 2006 03:22 pmImagine something for me. You live in a small town in Eastern Washington (pop. 1570) and work full time at a ten-table cafe. On Monday mornings, you act as hostess, waitress, and cashier. A girl walks in with three boys. She seems to be college aged. It's hard to tell. But she is wearing the most peculiar clothes. Black flip-flops over green woolen socks, red plaid pajama pants which stop inches short of her ankles, and a man's leather jacket over a pink sweater over a black shirt over a orange tanktop over another orange tanktop. Her hair is best described as "absurd." It has the look of curly hair that was trampled by a tossing head while sleeping on the ground in a sleeping bag in the woods in a super-humid tent. Because it was raining outside.
Do you serve her food? Do you even notice if her three companions look half as disreputable? If you do, she's immensely thankful, because there was only a can of tomato soup (and rather a lot of delicious raspberry vodka) standing between this breakfast and that of yesterday.
Camping was pretty wonderful. Sure, I spend most of the night chilled, damp, and unsure whether or not I was sleeping on my sleeping pad or the very cold ground. And it rained a lot. But forested lakes are peculiarly beautiful in the rain. Priest Lake is very clear. The water in the morning is very still. And there are bright leaves dropping onto the surface near shore, so I saw the leaf floating over water over clean stones. And there was mist on the lake.
But most of all, it was autumn. There isn't autumn in Western Washington, really. Leaves turn brown and soggy and fall off. It rains a lot. It is difficult to distiguish from winter, really, except the roads are not icy. In any case, it isn't a particularly attractive season. And even the beauty of the Cascades in the summer is different, because the colors are all of one texture: green, coniferous.
The drive through Eastern Washington (and Idaho) was very different. Unbelievably rich, and the feeling is of your eyes widening too much before each blink to gorge themselves on sight. The deciduous trees all turn yellow, just on the far side of orange, and are citrus-luminescent. Better yet, there are Tamaracks. I don't think we have these at home. They're pine trees, sure, but inside of staying evergreen they turn even more fiery bright than the leaf-droppers. So the woodscape is a stippling of dark, calm green, with ridiculously exciting patterns of sharp color laced through it. But add the sky to the palette too--it's huge and many shapes of down-gray. And the ground itself shifts the color scheme minute by minute. It runs in colors of dead grass from wheat to almost as orange as the tamaracks, washed with brush that is gray or mahogany or vivid maroon, or filled with still water that reflect the gray sky. And broken in the foreground by sparse old buildings, weathered barns, wood fences. Horses and cows, too.
All of this is hugely exciting to me. If I were to read this entry back to myself, I would think--melodramatic sap, does she think describing pretty nature scenes is interesting? Or original? What disgusting, unimaginative passivity!
Maybe the bottom of that is only that anyone can look at nature and appreciate it. That's nothing special. But it's also like a touching song or good joke or excellent food, which is exponentially more amazing when you share it with other people. And I took no pictures, so by rights I'm allowed my thousand words.
Suddenly I understand evangelism.
Do you serve her food? Do you even notice if her three companions look half as disreputable? If you do, she's immensely thankful, because there was only a can of tomato soup (and rather a lot of delicious raspberry vodka) standing between this breakfast and that of yesterday.
Camping was pretty wonderful. Sure, I spend most of the night chilled, damp, and unsure whether or not I was sleeping on my sleeping pad or the very cold ground. And it rained a lot. But forested lakes are peculiarly beautiful in the rain. Priest Lake is very clear. The water in the morning is very still. And there are bright leaves dropping onto the surface near shore, so I saw the leaf floating over water over clean stones. And there was mist on the lake.
But most of all, it was autumn. There isn't autumn in Western Washington, really. Leaves turn brown and soggy and fall off. It rains a lot. It is difficult to distiguish from winter, really, except the roads are not icy. In any case, it isn't a particularly attractive season. And even the beauty of the Cascades in the summer is different, because the colors are all of one texture: green, coniferous.
The drive through Eastern Washington (and Idaho) was very different. Unbelievably rich, and the feeling is of your eyes widening too much before each blink to gorge themselves on sight. The deciduous trees all turn yellow, just on the far side of orange, and are citrus-luminescent. Better yet, there are Tamaracks. I don't think we have these at home. They're pine trees, sure, but inside of staying evergreen they turn even more fiery bright than the leaf-droppers. So the woodscape is a stippling of dark, calm green, with ridiculously exciting patterns of sharp color laced through it. But add the sky to the palette too--it's huge and many shapes of down-gray. And the ground itself shifts the color scheme minute by minute. It runs in colors of dead grass from wheat to almost as orange as the tamaracks, washed with brush that is gray or mahogany or vivid maroon, or filled with still water that reflect the gray sky. And broken in the foreground by sparse old buildings, weathered barns, wood fences. Horses and cows, too.
All of this is hugely exciting to me. If I were to read this entry back to myself, I would think--melodramatic sap, does she think describing pretty nature scenes is interesting? Or original? What disgusting, unimaginative passivity!
Maybe the bottom of that is only that anyone can look at nature and appreciate it. That's nothing special. But it's also like a touching song or good joke or excellent food, which is exponentially more amazing when you share it with other people. And I took no pictures, so by rights I'm allowed my thousand words.
Suddenly I understand evangelism.